Jozef
by sophiesix
Summary: Before Blackheath was Blackheath, he had a first name. And that name was Jozef.
1. Chapter 1

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**Jozef**

_Before Blackheath was Blackheath, he had a first name. And that name was Jozef. _

This story is part of the Seeking Souls series of stories. In the chronology of the story, it takes place before Seeking Souls, but should be read after Thaw to get the most from it. Or Blood Sacrifice. But at least Thaw.

Warnings: MM themes. Violence, Language, General morbidness – it's Blackheath we're talking about here, after all.

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Beyond talent lie all the usual words discipline, love, luck -- but, most of all, endurance.

James Arthur Baldwin

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**Love**

"Can I borrow a cup of flour?"

The boy stood on the doormat in such a way that Luka was sure he had never stood on a doormat before, and wandered if he ought to. The request was straightforward enough, but Luka paused. He had seen this boy around the building, him and his mother, or more often, him alone. Luke took notice of things like that. Boys especially. He had a fondness for boys. The children around here knew that and kept away. But here he was, standing, mostly, on his doormat. Unafraid. At least, not afraid of him. The boy wiped hastily at the back of his neck, and Luka listened past him to the noise of drunken adults brawling. The boy's mother and her latest. It did not sound like it would be stopping any time soon.

"Sure," Luka said, vacating the doorway, "Come in." He walked into the kitchen, and the boy walked carefully around each carpet, following him.

"You can step on them, you know, that's what they are for."

The boy didn't reply. Luka scooped some flour out of a bin, and his name came to him now – Jozef.

"Jozef, isn't it."

The boy took the flour and stared at it uncomfortably, wiping again at the neck of his neck.

"You didn't really come here for flour did you?"

"No, I did," he insisted, and after a pause, scooping some flour up between his fingers and rubbing it into the back of his head with a slight grimace. Puzzled, Luka moved around so he could see, and drew his breath in sharply through his nose to see the hair dark and wet with blood beneath the striking crumbling whiteness of the flour. He had not seen it at first because the natural darkness of the hair, the blood and the night merged almost seamlessly.

"Oh no, this will not do."

"I didn't drip anywhere," the boy said hotly, "you can check."

"You will have to go to the hospital."

"I'm not going."

He held the boy's eyes a moment, noted the unwaveringness, then took his shoulder and drove him to the bathroom. He sat him on the edge of the bath and kept his stomach tight while he washed out the flour and the blood with a rubber hose attached to the tap, the dark and paler sticky lumps flopping into the tub as the boy held still, uncomplaining.

The wound was sharp edged, and cleaned of the clotted gunk around it, bled freely. Luka pulled out some cotton bandages from the bathroom drawers and pressed it to the wound. The boy only stiffened slightly. _He must be used to pain_, Luke thought, wrapping another bandage around his head, _and hiding it_. Lastly he pulled out a packet of Aspirin.

"Here," he said, but the boy didn't take it. _Probably thought he meant to drug him and rape him_, Luka thought a little sourly. But this did not quite fit with the boys' calmness.

"It's Aspirin," he explained, a note of exasperation creeping in, "It will dull the pain."

"I know," Jozef said quietly, "but it stops clotting too."

Luke sat back, surprised.

"How do you know that?"

"I can read."

"Well… good." A knowledge of first aid would be important with a mother like his. "You should still go to the hospital." Luka could not take him. He would have to find him a taxi…

"No." Just as firmly, leaving no room for negotiation. But there was fear in Jozef's eyes, fear that he might insist. Fear of the system, the social workers, the homes… Luka understood this fear. His life was spent living despite the system too. In a different way, but similar enough to understand.

"Well you should lie down for a minute anyway, til it stops bleeding."

And the boy stood up and walked out the bathroom with that cool confidence that no harm would come to him in a bed in this house. He couldn't know that he was safe here. But he did know. At least he seemed to. He was not afraid, at any rate. How could that be?

Luka led him back to the lounge room and spread a blanket over the sofa. Jozef lay down and put his head carefully on the arm.

"Tea?" Luka asked, disappearing into the kitchen.

"Yes, please," came the reply. The boy was not an innocent. You could not live in his apartment, in this building, and not be jaded by life by the age of nine. So Luka wandered where this trust, this softness came from. Most of the children around here were as hard as shards of glass, broken too many times.

They sipped their tea in companionable silence, and the boys eye's roamed over the wall to wall books wallpapering the room.

"Whose are all these books?" he asked eventually.

"Mine," Luka replied.

"You can't have read all of them!"

"I have."

"No one could ever read so many."

"Try me."

Jozef reached out – the books were always so close that you only had to reach a little to touch them, and pulled one out of the shelf at random.

"Anna Ka – Kar"

"Karenina. Tolstoy. Set in Russia, the story of a woman looking for happiness."

Impressed, the boy nonetheless chose another, from down near the floor. He looked at the title for a long time this time, determined to get it right first time.

"Silent Spring."

"Rachel Carson. She wrote about the effect of things like DDT, insecticides, on the environment. Beautiful writing."

Jozef gazed at the cover, which was simple enough, but Luka knew he was not seeing the broad stripes of orange and white, but the world inside, captured between the pages.

"You can take some if you like," Luka said, though he knew it was strictly forbidden for him to make such gifts. They called it grooming.

Jozef shook his head gently. "They belong together. They would be... orphaned, at my place."

He reached for another volume, and Luka saw the red spots starting to leach through the bandage, and clucked his tongue.

"You're still bleeding."

The boy's hand touched his head guiltily and he glanced at the sofa, checking for stains.

"Don't worry about that," Luka sighed, "You'll need stitches." He said nothing more, just stating the facts, waiting for the boy to make his own conclusion.

"I can show you how?" Jozef replied, and Luka was again surprised by him.

"It will hurt!"

"I do it myself, usually, but I can't, I can't see…"

They sat on the edge of the bath so the blood could drip freely without worrying the boy or the carpets. Luka's gaze was held by the bright red drips down the boy's neck and bare back, horrified and fascinated by what he was doing. He tried to keep his stitches as small and neat as possible, the thread dark on the white scalp. If you could ignore the tension in the boys shoulders, it was much like darning a sock.

"Did you father teach you how to do stitches?" Luka asked, angling to know more about him, and keep his own mind from thinking too much about what he was doing.

"I don't have a father. I mean, I never knew him."

"It is a good thing, I think, if your father is not present, for him to be unknown. He could be anyone then. Perhaps he is a Russian prince, and one day when you are grown you will find you have a brother, a Russian prince in his own right now."

The boy smiled, and Luke felt privileged to see such a rare and beautiful thing.

"You're crazy," the boy murmured appreciatively.

"There. Done." He wasn't sure who was more relieved, himself or the boy. He held the mirror up to reflect his handiwork. "It's not going to win a ribbon, but I think it will hold." The boy examined the reflection carefully and Luka found himself holding his breath, hoping for approval. Jozef nodded, and he could breathe again, taking the proffered iodine and then the bandages. He was relieved that the boy was wiping the blood off his shoulders and back. The smell had begun to cloy in his nose. "You'd better stay a bit longer so we can be sure."

Luka imagined the police bursting in now, shoving him to the floor and spiriting the boy away, on one of their regular raids that seemed to be somehow part of his rehabilitation, as necessary as the psychologists, the surveillance… Well, Caylan was not that bad.

"If there is a knock at the door," he started regretfully, but the boy nodded, his face full of understanding.

"I'll hide."

***

Luka left the young warm body in the bed almost regretfully. David was… a gift from the Gods. And he did not like to tempt the gods by leaving him, even if only for a minute. But he could see the flicker of the television even with his eyes closed, and had given up trying to ignore it.

Luka got no further than the doorway; Jozef was sitting on the floor of the lounge room, playing David's x box game with the head phones on.

"How long have you been here?" Luka asked, toneless with shock, and Jozef nudged one ear piece off with his shoulder. Luka repeated himself, but Jozef just shrugged, his attention focused intently on the screen.

He had been here the whole time. He had no doubt heard, and probably seen, him and David together. And he was still here. Perhaps he was used to his mother's indiscretions, but Luka was deeply uncomfortable.

"This is the new one. You didn't tell me you had the new one," Jozef murmured, and Luka realized he was talking about the game. He hadn't told him because Jozef had never shown any interest in computer games until today. Then he noticed how he was sitting, all his weight on the leg folded beneath him, the other held out awkwardly.

"What's wrong with your leg?"

Jozef grimaced slightly, but so quickly it could have been in response to the game. Luka knelt beside him and pulled up the hem of his shorts, revealing four fresh hot cigarette burns. He swore and returned from the kitchen with a bag of peas, the aspirin and some water. Jozef had abandoned his attempt at interest in the game and stared at the burns dully, hopelessly, like he had given up more than the game.

"Your mother is alone tonight," Luka said gruffly, a statement not a question, as he pressed the cold bag to the thigh.

"She didn't really mean it. She was... upset."

"She was drunk," Luka said. _Or worse_.

"She was sad I didn't have a father. She said I missed out. Her father used to do this to her. Builds character. And-"

Luka drew him into a hug, silencing his desolate words. He loved his mother desperately, Luka could see this. He remembered being drawn out onto the common balcony by shouting, years ago. It happened weekly, if not nightly, but this night he remembered because the voices had belonged to the police, and that of a small boy. Jozef.

"Leave her alone!"

"Step away from the perp, kid."

"She's not a perp! She's my mother!"

The fury that little voice had contained.

He heard David rise and saw him sagged in the doorway, gazing at them through bleary eyes.

"Isn't he a bit young for you, you old fag?"

David was twice Jozef's age, physically, but sometimes he wondered where his mental age would settle. It leapt about in jagged peaks and spikes, one minute painfully immature and the next achingly experienced. Luka threw him the bag of peas as he strode past them into the kitchen, and David swapped it for a freshly frozen bag and went back to bed. Luka saw himself from David's eyes for a moment, pressing the bag to this young boy's upper thigh, late at night, being who they all knew he was, and was struck anew by Jozef's trust in him.

"Why are you never bothered by me?" Luka whispered to him.

"You don't bother me," Jozef murmured.

"What about David? Doesn't it bother you that…"

"You are lovers?" he shrugged, as if that was all there was to it. Perhaps it was. "How long have you been together?"

"2 months now." _More… _he realized with surprise.

"Do you think he will stick around?" How observant the boy was. Or perhaps he was just extrapolating from his mother's life.

"No," Luka laughed, to hide the fear in his voice.

"Why not."

"He will get bored of me and move on."

"You shouldn't get bored of good things." Jozef's voice was hot with feeling, "You should keep them as long as you can."

"Ah, Jozef," Luka sighed, "Often it is not your decision. If you love someone, you have to let them go."

He did not want to let Jozef go. _Stay with me, Cat; Outdoors the wild winds blow._

He wished he could keep him here, safe in the cozy apartment amongst the carpets and the books. He knew it could never happen. Not on this world.

_Outdoors the wild winds blow, Mistress, and dark is the night. Mistress, there are things that are yet to be done. Open the door!_

And surprisingly, David stuck around as well. For as long as he could. Or rather, for as long as fate would let him.

***

Luka saw his fist rise to knock on the door, and it seemed to belong to someone else. Jozef's mother answered the door, recognizing him instantly despite her condition.

"You stay the fuck away from my son, you fucking faggot!"

She had been undeniably beautiful, and could be still, when her face wasn't contorted with drink or hate.

"Mum, shut up!" Jozef pushed past her and half ran down the corridor, waiting for him in the darkness of the stairwell. "What is it?"

"I wondered if you might come with me. It's David. He's... he's been hurt." His voice seemed to ache and crack like a tree branch covered in the weight off too much snow.

They travelled to the hospital in a taxi, and Jozef let him keep his silence. He even knew enough not to take his hand, as he might've if they'd been at home. They passed the festival lights of the city at night as if in deepest mourning.

***

"Patient's name?"

"David Pearce."

The nurse scrolled through the computer's list.

"Relatives only at this stage I'm afraid."

"This is his little brother. I received a call that he was asking for him."

The nurse rang ahead, then leaned over the desk at Jozef.

"Luka?" she asked sceptically. It was true they did not look much alike.

"Yes," he lied in a whisper, and it was enough. Luka led him through the hospital maze still brightly lit and active despite the hour, up the lifts and through another labyrinth of corridors. Then there was nowhere else to go but David's room, straight in front of them. They could see David through the glass, but a police officer stopped them at the door. Luka had a momentary fear that he had been recognized, as he always did. As if the police could smell the prison on him. This time it was a false alarm.

"No visitors," was all the police officer said, though curtly, and then David's eyes opened and he called out "Luka!"

Luka pressed Jozef forward, wincing at the pain in David's voice, and the effort it cost him to speak.

"His little brother," he murmured to the police officer.

"And who are you?"

"His guardian," David said, and they all smiled to think of this world they were creating that seemed more real to them than the real world, where, after all, they were nothing but strangers.

"They only got me for a second," David was whispering, taking each of their hands but holding Luka's like he would never let go. "But they had knives. And they knew how to use them." He chuckled wetly and it turned into a cough, the blankets folding back under the curl of his chest to reveal his wounds. The boys eyes widened at the damage that had been done in so short a time. Luka eased him back, covering him again silently, wishing he could have spared the boy this. Spared all of them. But Jozef made no move to edge away, holding David's hand gently but firmly, letting them talk.

Too soon the nurses came to take him away and Luka sat on a bench in the corridor, out of sight of the police, and wept. Jozef squeezed his shoulder, but knew there was nothing he could say.

He did not go to David's funeral. He did not leave the house for days. Hunger finally drove him out, but the skies were sickening bright and cheerful, and the world seemed to have forgotten David already.

_Don't you understand?_ He wanted to shout. _He's dead! How can you all walk around like life goes on!_

He saw them then through the shop window, silent, like an old movie. Jozef, his mother and her latest item, walking along the pavement on the other side of the road. Happy families. Then the man hit his mother harder than Luka had ever before seen a woman hit in public, and his mother collapsed to the pavement. Jozef dropped by side her immediately, but the man barked something at him, and slowly, against all his will, he left her and went to stand by the man, and together they watched her get herself together and slowly get to her feet. The boys fingers strained to touch her, to help her, but they were both under some kind of spell, following the man silently like drones.

Luka realized he hadn't seen the boy in weeks, and decided to visit his apartment that night. This new one of his mothers he particularly didn't like, and Luka felt anxiety rising in him that the nights had been quiet these past weeks. Too quiet. This man loved peace and quiet and control too much. Luka had known prison wardens like him.

But that night, the police got there before he did, and he knew he was too late. He knew he would never see the boy again.


	2. Luck

**Luck**

It always made him think of luck, coming into a place like this. That some people had the luck to be born into good circumstances, and the luck to stay there. And others, like the children who lived here, that luck didn't seem to touch with a barge pole.

Because if it wasn't luck, then there was something terribly wrong with the world. Perhaps there was anyway.

Jozef sat on the other side of the desk opposite him, closed and quiet and still. _He hid his fear well_, the psychologist thought. Caylan couldn't tell who was watching who.

"Who did that," he said finally, indicating the marks on his face. Too blatant for staff, they should be smarter. But you never knew. "Staff or student?" He could see surprise in the boy's eyes, that he would suspect staff.

"Tell me who did it, and I will make them disappear," Caylan continued, "Give me a name."

"Who are you?"

"I told you, Dr. Caylan. I'm a psychologist."

The boy watched him, waiting. Waiting for the answer to his question, which was, perhaps, better put as _why are you here_?

"I'm a psychologist, but not usually for children. This, I'm doing as a favour."

"To who?"

"To a friend. Well, a patient." He wondered why he had corrected himself.

"I have a patient who's life has been… turned around, the past few months. Revitalised. He says you are a part of that."

"Luka..." the boy breathed.

"Yes. Obviously, he can't come to see you. He has asked me to look after you. I think it's an important part of his mental health that you get through this."

"Paul."

"Sorry?"

"The name. It's Paul."

***

The next time he met the boy, he could see he had made an impression.

"You made him disappear."

"Paul? I had him transferred to a place that could better meet his needs. How is your new room mate?"

Jozef smiled.

"Useful."

"Oh dear," Caylan could only imagine what skills a boy like Jozef would find useful. Nothing that would be learnt in school, he was willing to bet. "Well, I guess that's better than abusive. Keep your nose clean, both of you."

"How is my mother?"

"Well," he said with an effort. "Luka tried to visit her but…" Caylan trailed away, unsure how to describe the foul beast his mother could be without offending him.

"No, she doesn't like…" Jozef paused, obviously wondering what the appropriate word to use was in front of him, "people like him," he finished lamely.

"You don't think he should keep trying then?"

Jozef shook his head, staring at the table. Caylan wondered if his mother embarrassed him.

"Alright, food, school, any complaints?"

"No."

"Ok." Caylan was at a loss of what else he could do for this boy. He had nothing, but he didn't seem to want anything either. At least, nothing he could give him. "Well. Til next time, then."

***

It seemed cruel that it should rain, today of all days. As if the depression of the funeral itself were not enough. But he supposed not all funerals could be sunny. It had to rain for some. And some people had worse luck than others.

The boy stood by the graveside in the rain. He had no umbrella, and the carer from the home had forgotten about him and the protection of her umbrella had left him. Caylan walked closer so that his umbrella covered them both.

"Luka sent you this."

A bag of cookies, still warm in the cold damp air. Caylan had felt it was important that they be kept warm, so that the boy could feel Luka's warmth by proxy, as it were. Jozef held them in his bare hands, staring silently as the rain beat down around them.

"I want to stay with him," he burst out suddenly, quiet but fierce, "Can't I stay with him? There must be some way…"

"I'm sorry. It's absolutely impossible. You understand that, don't you." Caylan's hand on his shoulder brought him to tears.

"She was only supposed to do 15 years," he whispered, "Now it's a life sentence. A death sentence."

"At least she's free now."

He wondered if the boy felt she was one of the lucky ones.

Caylan drove him back personally, though closely shadowed by the carer's car, and felt Jozef appreciate the moment of semi-privacy. He pulled at the Home gates and Jozef flipped off his seat belt and went to get out automatically. Caylan wondered how many things in this boy's life were now automatic. He held him back a second.

"You can survive here. No matter how dark it gets, if you hold on, you can survive."


	3. Lies

**Lies**

The apartment building was dirtier, older than Jozef remembered. But five years will do that. He dug at the back of the powerboard til he had it. The knife. His first. He slipped into the sleeve of his jacket without a single recognizable emotion crossing his face.

He had learnt to control his emotions. It was a lesson hard learnt. He remembered the first Christmas that he had been taken to visit his mother in the jail, and he had been longing to see her so badly that she had jumped up and hugged him before the guards had a chance to react. It wasn't allowed, physical contact. And certainly not to take it that way, without asking permission, waiting for the nod. They had cancelled the visit then and there, as punishment, and he did not see her again til the next Christmas. The hug was all he had to last him until then.

The second Christmas, they had a private room and only one guard. His mother had gone to hug him, and he had drawn away, not wanting to lose her that quickly again, not even for her touch. This year he wanted more.

"What's the matter, you too old now to hug your mother?"

"It's not allowed."

"Don't you worry about that." She pulled him onto her lap, and he made no active resistance, "I got it all arranged."

She shot a smile at the guard and Jozef saw how he looked at her as if he owned part of her, and saw too the hunger to own her completely.

She passed him two small bundles. One old and creased, one newly wrapped. Two Christmas presents. One from last year and one for this. She had kept last year's present, all this time.

"I don't have anything for you." He wished desperately he could have given her one of his blades. He would give her the best one, small, light, but wickedly sharp and strong. Even if she couldn't use it right.

"You wouldn't be allowed to give it to me anyway."

"You shouldn't be giving me anything anyway-" he said wretchedly pushing the little bundles away.

"Hey." Her voice would have stopped a mob, cut right through their foolishness. "You did me a favour. Alright? Don't you ever forget that. I should be thanking you." She put the presents in his pockets, one on one either side.

"I should be thanking you," he said, his voice small and wretched still, but letting her.

"Alright, we both did each other a favour then. Tit for tat. Now we're square. Alright?"

She made him look at her and he couldn't resist her. Her beautiful face would pull a smile from him no matter how deep it was hidden.

"Now give Mum a kiss, and be a good boy," she said rising as he kissed her cheek, and he knew their time was up. He knew she was trying to make him smile again. When did she ever need to tell him to be a good boy?

She stood by the guard, too close, as she watched him go. He wanted to go back, refuse to leave her, attack the guard, but he walked straight and even to the gates.

His mother had taught him many things.

***

Luka had taught him much too, and his next mission was to track him down. As a convicted sex offender, it wasn't so hard.

The police seemed surprised at first, that he wanted the address.

"Want to get your own back, huh? Give him some of his own medicine. Good on yer, kid."

It took all his control to agree and get out of the there. He had had to press the flat of the blade against his skin to do it, just to remind himself of what he could do, and thus obviate the need for it. He hated the way people who had never met him assumed Luka was a monster. He was still seething by the time he reached the address, and barely covered it when he was sitting in the lounge, the familiar carpets under his feet.

"What an angry young man you have grown into," Luka noted gently as he sipped his tea. He had aged decades, but Jozef hardly noticed.

"Sorry. It's those fucking pigs. The way they treat you."

"They are entitled, apparently. I am a criminal."

It made him think of his mother's funeral, and how people seemed to think it was alright for her to die in jail, because she was a criminal. As if she had renounced all her human rights. As if a criminal was a different thing entirely to a human being.

"Just because you have a jail sentence does not make you guilty."

Luka looked at him surprised.

"You have always known I wasn't guilty," he said softly, wonderingly. "I have never understood how you could know this."

It was Jozef's turn to be surprised. "You were never interested in young boys. Young men, sure. But there's no law against that. Not anymore." He saw the bliss this brought to the old man's face, to hear his words, to be exculpated at last.

"You're a young man now. Aren't you afraid?" But he was smiling, and Jozef laughed.

"Are you trying to scare me? You almost puked just stitching a wound. You haven't got the stomach to hurt anyone. Besides, you'll be in love with David til you die."

"You strip me of the last of my armour. You reveal me as a defenceless worm."

"Shut up." But Luka was not laughing, and fear entered Jozef's heart like a needle. "You're sick aren't you."

"I'm dying."

***

Because he had lied about his age, Jozef had been given a flat of his own. By a lie, a man annihilates his dignity as a man, Jozef had read, but he could not understand what dignity he had had to start with. It was not until later that he learnt what he had lost by tempting fate this way.

There was a girl working at the check out of the local store. Thus was not in itself a remarkable thing to anyone else, but to Jozef, it was a wonderous, wonderous thing, something his mind reverted to constantly. He went to the store every day to buy some little thing, the cheapest thing he could find, just to see her, bask in the warmth of her presence. He was not normally shy with girls. They were drawn to his calm quiet confidence, dark looks and mystery, the thrill of the wrong side of the tracks. He was not averse to having fun with them. You couldn't grow up with his mother and not know all there was to know about sex. He found that this excited girls too. But he didn't want to excite this one. He wanted to keep her just as she was. If he could have encased the suburb in a glass dome, he would have done it.

She began to notice him, she would have had to be made of plastic not to, and her eyes questioned his with every purchase.

_What do you want?_

And as he asked for nothing else, she seemed to begin to understand the answer

_You_

_Why me_? the question became, and this he didn't know how to answer.

Then one day she came after him, catching him by the muted fresh and sharper decayed smells of the hopper, the sun teasing into the alley.

"My mates said I should give you a chance," she said, her eyes on him testingly, tasting.

"Did they," was all he could think of to say, and he saw the beginnings of faltering in her eyes.

"I like your friends," he pressed on, chasing her words with his lest she draw away. "They're smart."

They both knew he had no idea who her friends were, or even if she had any anyway. Their knowledge of each other did not extend past the walls of the store. Until today.

"Well you've got a pretty high opinion of yourself, don't you?" but her words were quiet, and came with a quiet smile, and he felt he was drowning.

***

The next time he saw Luka, he was in bed. Not because he wanted to, but because he couldn't leave it.

"I shall never forgive myself for wiping that smile off your face," Luka said, his voice soft, his breathing strained, "Forget about me, and tell me about that smile."

So Jozef made the effort to forget about the dying and fill the room with life. And Luka seemed to feed off his life, to glow with his story, the crazy incessant babble of a young man in love.

"It was the happiest time of my life, when I had you, and David, together," Luka sighed, "Then he was taken from me, and you were taken…"

"We never really left you though," Jozef murmured, "You still have us. You always will."

"Yes, you're right," Luka noted, then looked defeated, "Not for much longer though. This is not a battle I can fight forever. Or hide from, anymore."

But as it turned out, it was Jozef who was taken first.

He had lied about his age for longer than he could remember. It was always better to be older than you were. Until now. Now it would mean he was going to jail, not juvie. But part of him accepted this. It was the punishment that had always been due to him, hanging over him, and never delivered. Though he hadn't killed this man, he would have if he'd had the chance. The evidence said he'd killed both of them, and there was no arguing with the evidence. But his heart cried every time they said he'd killed her. It soothed him, in a way, that he should take the blame for the man she had killed. It would keep her memory pure for everyone, whereas there was nothing pure to keep about him.

He had come home and found them when they were just alive, their blood soaked into the bed like a syrup cake, his knives still in her hand, and his. He recognized the man as another worker in the store, a quiet one. One whose gaze had lingered on her, just as his had. But the other's gaze had not been returned.

He had hit out at the man til his body slid off the bed, and curled the girl into his arms as her last wet breaths slowed and ceased. And that was how the police had found them.

He wondered what would have happened if he had not kept his knives in the house. Would she have defended herself with something less, with equal lethality? Would her attacker have gone free? Would they both have lived?

These questions occupied him throughout the trial, making him seem distant. To him, it was the rest of the world that seemed distant, unreal. It was not til he was delivered from the remand centre to the high security prison that life became undeniably, unavoidably real.

The only place of respite was the library. The prison, for some unknown reason, had an extensive collection. And Jozef had time enough to read. He wondered if he would get through the whole library, or if he would never finish. As it turned out, he only got the chance to read a couple of year's worth of books. Then the others came. And the new behavior modification program.

He found out later they had left the high security prisons til last, knowing the inmates weren't going anywhere, and perhaps daunted by the thought of the violence contained within. They had already been on the planet, secretly, when he thought himself free. He hadn't noticed a thing, so filled was his world with love and dying. Then he was trapped, and it was too late, the invasion was well underway. It wasn't until years later that they got around to implanting the cell blocks.

In the end, he was glad she had died. Not in that way, but in that time. That she was spared from the horror and dread of the invasion, that her body remained her own. She, at least, could rest in peace.

For the humans who survived, there could be no peace. He was done with love, sick of lies, and had never had any luck to begin with, save what he had created of his own. All that was left was to do was endure, and fight.


End file.
